Hogwarts After Dark
by KingShakespeare
Summary: The following is a tale of Hogwarts After Dark set into four different eras of history: The Golden Trio Era, Next Gen, Marauder's Era, and Founder's Era. Anything can happen. And when night falls...loneliness calls. xxx. Read at your own risk. Read at your own discretion.
1. The Hour of the Lion

Golden Trio Era I: The Hour of the Lion

The hour of the lion. Gryffindor Tower was quiet. Ron Weasley tip-toed down the spiral staircase on the balls of his feet, trying not make a sound. Being a sixth-year who was often out of bed after hours, one would think he'd figured out where to step to keep from making _creaking_ sounds, yet twice he had to stop to make sure no one had woken at the noise he made. Once comfortable in the silence again, he proceeded, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs, and stepped through the door to the Gryffindor common room.

It was empty, as he had hoped. He hurried to the large scarlet couch, straightening the golden pillows and fluffing the cushions. He whipped his head around, anxiously, making certain he was alone. Satisfied, he pulled out his wand and paused, racking his brain for the spell. He struggled, examining his wand. He'd had this one for four years now almost, ever since the end of his second year after that fiasco with the Whomping Willow and then Gilderoy Lockhart accidentally obliviating his memory with it. This one was longer, fourteen inches, willow, with a unicorn hair for the core. It did its job; sometimes Ron just forgot to do his. His magic wasn't as strong as Harry's, and his memory wasn't as good as Hermione's. He was just… Ron. Just Ron.

Suddenly, he remembered the conjuring spell, and Ron whispered it softly, flourishing his wand like McGonagall had taught them. The candle appeared on the small end table beside the couch, and Ron's face beamed, smiling from ear to ear. Conjuring was a high branch of transfiguration, and conjuring something with many parts to it like a candle was an impressive feat for any wizard, especially a student who hadn't even taken his N.E.W.T.'s yet.

"Incendio," he whispered, his wand nearly touching the wick. It took fire, and Ron sat his wand down on the table beside the flickering flame, which was painting the scarlet and gold room in an ominously sensual light. Ron felt his pants bulge slightly and was surprised. He adjusted himself, glad she wasn't down yet; he could just imagine how red his face looked, especially in the wavering light of the room. The door opposite the one he'd came out of only minutes earlier opened, and she stepped out.

"Bloody hell!" Ron whispered. His pants bulged again, but this time he just left it, shame forgotten at the sight of her. "You look brilliant."

Lavender Brown twirled once in her nightgown, raising her arms so the gown could fan out, which was unnecessary as it only came to mid-thigh. "You think so?" she giggled, slightly, still swaying from her twirl. She sat down next to Ron, curling her legs up under her as girls often do, and rested her head on Ron's shoulder. She brought her lips to his neck, which sent chills down his spine. He was careful not to arch his back, placing the hand that Lavender wasn't holding over his lap so she couldn't see the throbbing at the crotch of his pants. "I love you, Ronny," she breathed on his neck.

That took him off-guard; he didn't know what to say to that. For one, she had called him Ronny, which he loathed more than he loathed Potions. Especially since Harry had become so bloody brilliant at it. At least before, they had struggled together. Second off, they hadn't been together that long, Lavender and him. He wasn't sure it was love he felt, even if his pants seemed to think so After a pause that Ron deemed long and awkward enough, he stuttered, "I, uh, I love you, too, Lavender."

She sat up, suddenly, smiling and then looking all serious. "Do you?" she sighed. "Do you really?" She nuzzled his neck with her head again, like a cat. Ron thought about Crookshanks and almost cringed. This was one of the things he couldn't stand about her.

He screwed his eyes up at the ceiling, beginning to question why he'd agreed to this secret meeting in the dead of night, "I just said I did, didn't I?"

"Oh, Ron!" She giggled again; it was another of the things Ron loathed about her. Then her lips were working on his neck again. Kissing, sucking, her tongue tracing little patterns against his warm flesh. This time his back did arch, and he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the incessant bulging against his pants. Lavender's mouth worked its way up to his ear, nibbling gently on his lobe, her hot breath urging the bulge in his pants to seek some kind of release. An involuntary moan escaped his lips, and she stopped.

Lavender pulled her head back from his ear, and her eyes searched his, but in the dark he couldn't tell what she was looking for. The candlelight only revealed so much. He scratched his head with his free hand, his ginger locks tangled and matted. "Sorry," he muttered dropping his gaze. "I—"

Suddenly, her lips were on his, and there was such a ferocity in the way her mouth met his that he knew right what to do. He pinned Lavender down on the scarlet couch, pulling at the nightgown, raising it over her head, throwing it on the floor. The throb in his pants roared, growing every second. He had thought about how she might look under her clothes, to be sure, but the reality was so much sweeter than anything he'd imagined. "Brilliant," he grinned, looking in her deep brown eyes, recognizing the hunger, the thirst in their depths. He lowered his head slowly, tickling the nape of her neck with his breath, his tongue. For the first time in his life, Ron let his hands wander, and the pleasure was more than he could stand.

The bulge was protruding to such an extent, even Lavender couldn't have missed it. "Looks like someone left their wand in their pants," she teased, raising one hand to stroke the bulge, causing it to twitch under her fingertips. "Mmm," she sighed. 'Someone's happy to see me." Ron wanted to tell her not to talk, but there was something he wanted even more than that.

As if reading his mind, she sat up, pushing Ron onto his back on the other side of the sofa. She smiled, mischievously, and reached behind her back, unhooking her pink, lacy bra. She tossed it aside to lay with her nightgown. And still the bulge grew. Ron's cock had never ached so bad in his life. He'd never been to close as this, to actually doing it with someone. And, oh, how he longed to.

She was much perkier than he had expected. Her breasts were perfectly round, and they were much bigger than he had ever assumed under her school robes. Her nipples were hard and a soft pink color, teasing his senses unbounded. He was worried he'd lose his load just looking at her. His anxiety went unfounded, however. In naught but her lacy pink panties, covering the pink that Ron so desperately desired, Lavender straddled him, removing his shirt and kissing his chest adamantly. She grabbed the button on his pants and undid it with methodical hands. He had been throbbing so long it was starting to hurt. Lavender lowered the pants and boxers at once, freeing his shaft from its confinement, and she gasped almost at once.

"What?" Ron snapped, placing a hand over his loose cock. "What's wrong with it?" Heat flushed his face again.

Lavender looked at his eyes, and for a second, Ron felt as if the fire was coming from them more than the candle, "Wrong with it? Nothing. It's bloody huge, Ron. _Huge. _I—I'm afraid it won't fit."

"Fit?" Ron's voice cracked, his eyes trailing down to where Lavender's thighs parted. She nodded, silently, which Ron was thankful for, and then she rose up on her knees and pulled the lace away from where her thighs kissed, revealing the most beautiful thing Ron had ever seen.

Under a collection of short, wispy brown hairs, was the small slit that Ron Weasley had been waiting for his entire life. He tried to jerk up, to let his lips meet where her legs met, but Lavender grabbed him by his ginger hair and thrust his head back to rest on one of the golden pillows. An _umph _escaped his parted lips, and he could feel the strain for his cock to remain unused.

Luckily, it didn't have to. Lavender threw her panties with the rest of her clothes, and yanked the rest of Ron's off as well. By this point, his cock was all but a flag pole, pointing straight up into the candlelit air. Lavender spat in her palm, which confused Ron, until the hand found the base of his shaft and started stroking up and down his length. "_Oh_," he moaned. The wet allowed her to stroke up and down so fast, so fluid, and it felt better than anything Ron had ever been able to give himself. "Lavender…" he whimpered, softly, trying to remain quiet, remembering his friends just up the stairs. A drop of cum surfaced on the tip of his head, and Lavender's finger wiped it up. She looked at her finger for only a second before licking the sticky cum off it. This time _she_ moaned.

"You taste sweet," she nodded, smirking. "That's good." She was much more experienced than him, he realized. Then her hands were off of him, and she slid forward sitting over his hips. She lifted herself onto her knees dangling the slit between her perfect legs right over his swollen cock. It throbbed, twitching. It was a struggle not to stroke himself. "Well?" she whispered, still smiling like the devil with a secret.

"Well?" Ron repeated, confused.

She lowered her hand to her chest, squeezing one of her breasts tenderly, tracing down her tight stomach, through the little mound of pubic hair, and letting two of her fingers rest gently at the edge of her wet pussy. She stroked her clit, and all of a sudden she was biting her lip so hard it looked like it hurt. When she spoke, her breathing was forced and ragged, "Are you going to put it in me?"

Ron's mouth went dry. He nodded and grabbed the base of his cock, which caused his toes to curl involuntarily. He positioned the shaft right under her opening, and Lavender let her hips drop slightly. Both of them moaned suddenly. Ron felt her covering his shaft, and the warmth was all he could have asked for. This was truly magic, he thought.

Then she was going up and down on him, and Ron's hips kept bucking up, pleading for his cock to reach depths they hadn't yet. No matter how long she was going up and down on his shaft, she never managed to take his full length, but it was enough to make it feel right.

There was that familiar tightness in Ron's stomach, as he looked up into her pleading eyes, and suddenly he felt Lavender start to contract around his length. She was panting, and soft moans escaped from the depths of her throat. She was climaxing, Ron thought. It was the first time he'd ever made a girl finish. It was the first time he'd ever tried. He felt successful. He'd finally gone somewhere Harry hadn't.

Then, suddenly he felt himself coming up on the end. His cock was engorged, and Lavender still rode him like she was looking for something. All of a sudden, biting his tongue, warm cum exploded from the tip of Ron's head and filled Lavender's sweet pussy. There was so much it dripped out all over Ron's pelvis, a few drops splattering on the scarlet couch beneath him. She slid off of his length and lay flat on top of him, her hair matting against his face, her breath at his neck again. They laid panting in their sweat and cum for several minutes, sticky and tired, Ron's hands around her waist, resting gently on her firm backside.

"That was great," Lavender sighed, still breathless. "Really brilliant."

"Yeah," Ron said, not much paying attention. From this angle, with her face hidden and disheveled brown strewn across his chest, she could have been Hermione. "Brilliant," he echoed.


	2. Prongs in America

Marauder's Era I

The little motel was so close to the Ministry of Magic that he knew he could get away with it. He'd had some half-brained schemes in his life; no one could argue that, but this one was full-proof. Besides, he'd ran this same play half a dozen times before.

"I don't believe you're a magician," the American girl said with her thick country accent.

James Potter rolled his eyes, "_Wizard. _Not a magician. And I don't right bloody care what you believe to be honest, but if you'll hold on for two sodding seconds I'll prove it to you. Okay? Okay. Brilliant. " Now, James was known for being crass, but he couldn't get away with talking to, well, anyone this roughly on a regular basis, save maybe greasy little Snivellus. Americans seemed to find absolutely _anything _James said endearing, however, so long as he said it with his pretty little English accent. At least this American. He loved it.

She was a looker. And coming from James that meant something. With a face and rep like his, he could afford to have the highest of standards. Everyone wanted a piece of the fifth-year Gryffindor, it seemed. Even tourists. James reveled in it. Normally, he didn't act on it, but there was just something about this blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty that he couldn't place his finger on. Maybe it was the freckles on her face. Maybe it was the accent. Either way, here he was, at the dingy little motel on Whitehall with the American girl who kept swearing, "I never do things like this."

They stood in a corner of the small lobby, alone, save for the scraggly man behind the check-in counter, whose head was down in a magazine. "Watch this," James smirked, his back to the man. "_Geminio!" _he whispered, holding a twenty pound note in his hand. _Muggle money, _he thought disgusted. Still, it had its benefits. The tip of his wand glowed quietly, and the note in his hand duplicated itself perfectly, equally crisp. The American girl gasped. James just looked smug, content with himself.

Duplicating money wasn't exactly legal in the wizarding world. He couldn't imagine it was very legal in the Muggle world, either, but they were too stupid to notice. If they looked closely, the serial numbers would be identical. Then again, practicing magic underage was totally against the law, as well. James didn't have to worry about, though, less than a block from the Ministry of Magic. It was rather clever when one thought about it. The way he got away with his shenanigans was by going at them right under the authority's nose. James suppressed his laughter as he handed the two notes to the man behind the counter, "Corner room on the second floor, mate. Like normal."

The man was handing over the key when the American girl arched her neck defensively, "Did you just say 'like normal?' How often do you do this?"

"Don't be silly," James chided, secretly scathing his carelessness. This is why he almost got in trouble so often—he had a fat mouth, and it got fatter every day. "I said, uh, I like turtles. It's a British thing. Right, John?"

"Right, James," the man behind the counter stifled a chuckle.

The American girl was obviously smarter than she looked, "How'd you know his name was John, huh?" She seemed to be getting exasperated. So was James; he imagined this would have been easier.

"It's on his shirt," James answered, stupidly. John was wearing a shirt with stripes on it, no logo, no words, certainly no name tag.

"No," the girl said, her face turning scarlet. "It's not." James was beginning to worry that she would walk out on him. James was beginning to wonder why he bloody cared so much.

Suddenly, an even more stupid explanation came to him, and it took all of his self-control to deliver it with a straight face because he knew full-well she would believe it, "Only _wizards_ can see it. Wizards can see the names of every person on their clothing. It's a magic thing."

Her face screwed up like she was concentrating on something, "Oh…" Then she smiled broadly as if she'd made peace with it, "Sorry, I'm new to this whole magician thing."

James rolled his eyes, "_Wizard. _Look, why don't you go up to the room and get comfortable, if you know what I mean."

"Okay," she took the key from him jovially and skipped up the stairs.

"Brilliant," James muttered, turning to scrutinize John the desk-man. The man's hairy face looked more than slightly amused.

"Still running that wizard crap on poor tourist girls, James?"

"Hey!" James laughed, glad to see John didn't believe the stuff about magic that he'd overheard. James didn't want to obliviate him. "I've never been with an American girl before."

"I hear they're dirty," John quipped, still smiling.

"Well, you'll know one way or the other in a couple of hours when I come back down." By the time the two of them were done laughing, they were doubled over, tears spilling out the brim of their eyes.

When James entered the grungy motel room, he heard the hot water running from the bathroom shower. Steam was coming up under the bathroom door. His pants tightened at the thought. She really _was _getting comfortable. James stripped down quickly until he was standing naked in the bedroom and looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror running the backside of the closet door. The perfect specimen, James thought. _Eh. _"Engorgio," he whispered, flourishing his wand at his throbbing cock. It swelled now, nearly doubling in size. His grin could of shattered his face if it was any larger. The perfect specimen, he thought gleefully.

When he opened the bathroom door, the heat wave hit him like he was standing in a sauna. Sirius would never believe James was getting this lucky, he fretted. The sun-kissed American broad stood in the shower with her head leaned back, both hands massaging her bleached blonde hair as water cascaded across her backside. The curve the arch in her back made was enough to cause James's mouth to water excessively. There wasn't an ounce on her body that shouldn't be there. Americans might be dirty, he thought, but how dirty could shower sex be?

Very, he found out. By the time the water ran cold, James wasn't sure which one of them was actually magical. He'd never felt so satisfied, and he wasn't sure if it was due to the American or the Engorgio charm he'd used. The latter had definitely satisfied her, however. James had heard his name moaned often enough, but never quite so excessively or loudly. He was almost ashamed when he had to walk back past John in the lobby with the girl. Subtly, behind the girl's back, he gave the disheveled man behind the counter a wink and a thumbs up. John chuckled under his breath.

"That was amazing," she said, once they were outside, her twang riding on the afternoon air.

"Brilliant," James smiled, nodding in agreement. "Kiss me." It wasn't a question. She obeyed without hesitation. James wanted to feel something, butterflies, warmth, passion, but he was left sober. Empty. "Thanks," he muttered.

"What's wrong?" she asked, genuine concern brimming in her ocean blue eyes.

James stopped walking and sighed audibly, "It's just well, you see, being a wizard is complicated. It's something I'm not actually allowed to share with people."

She smiled, "You trust me." _Oh, Americans. Oh, Muggles, _James mused.

"Sure," James stated flatly. It was easier not to argue, easier to just get it over with now. "How long ago would you say we met?"

She screwed her eyes up towards the sky, "Oh, about five hours. Give or take."

_Give or take, _James scoffed in his head. "Can I show you another trick?" James asked, flourishing his wand after making sure no one was around.

She nodded, her eyes filling with an excited gleam. She loved this.

James dropped his gaze, momentarily, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" she looked confused, unsure where he was going with this.

He pointed his wand at the poor American Muggle girl, "Obliviate."

Her legs went limp for a second, and James slid a hand behind her back to keep her on her feet, thrusting his wand back into the folds of his jumper.

"Where am I? Who are you?" She was obviously disoriented.

James almost felt guilty for a second. "You fell. Tripped. Hit your head. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I was walking down Whitehall, looking for a shoppe or two."

James smiled, gesturing at a street sign just a few yards away, "You're still here. This is Whitehall. Do be more careful, yeah?" He began to back away from the girl, turning to go his own way. It was time to find Padfoot.

"Thank you!" she called after him. "For helping me, whoever you are. My name's Rose! Rose Johnson."

_So that was her name_, James thought. _Rose. _He looked back at the American one last time, "Brilliant. I'm James, James Potter." Then, turning up his hood, he turned and walked off, leaving Whitehall and the Muggle American behind.

Suddenly, he realized what had drawn him to the American, if somewhat subconsciously. Her name. Now, he found himself thinking about another flower in another place.

Lily. Lily Evans.


	3. Wolfson

The Next Generation I: Wolfson

Teddy frowned down at the picture frame in his hand, his brow furrowing just like his father's had. It hurt Harry to look on him so, but he knew the boy could only feel worse. They were the same in so many ways, Teddy Lupin and Harry Potter—both orphans, both strong-willed and obstinate. Some days Harry admired the similarities; others, he simply rued them. Today, looking down into Teddy's wild brown eyes, he wasn't sure what he felt. Teddy's eyes shifted from the picture to Harry's eyes to Victoire's, and they rested on the latter silently.

There's affection there in his eyes, Harry thought. Affection that was seldom turned on anyone else. Even Harry, Teddy's godfather, seldom managed a soft smile or knowing glance from the boy. Harry understood it. If he had grown up in the wizarding world, always hearing about his parents and never knowing them, Harry would have been bitter, too. Well, more bitter than he had been.

Teddy took Victoire's hand with the one not gripping the frame. His eyes met Harry's again, then dropped to the photograph of the Order of the Phoenix, "These two are my family?" He posed it as a question though he knew full well.

Harry smiled, "Those two are your parents… But they're all your family. Our family"

That did it. Teddy smiled and kissed Victoire quickly on the cheek.


End file.
